Is This All There Is? Finding Direction When the Map Changes

      

By Cathy Yuhas, RN, CEOLD

Finding Direction When the Map Changes   There are times when the question slips out before we can suppress it: Is this all there is? The body won’t do what it used to. Energy feels like a scarce resource. Motivation hides in plain sight. The old ways we used to live—roles, routines, the constant hum of being useful—don’t seem to fit anymore. Meanwhile, the voices of our upbringing keep repeating what sounds like a job description for a life we’ve already outgrown: be productive, be pleasing, be strong, be fine. If this is where you are, you're not failing. You're reaching the honest middle of life—the place where the soul starts asking for a different kind of nourishment. The first truth is simple and disruptive: the second half of life depends on depth, not speed. In the first half, we build a self; in the second, we learn to surrender it to something larger—love, service, beauty, God, justice, the well-being of others—so that it can keep evolving. The void you feel isn’t laziness. It’s your soul refusing to run on the old engines of ambition, approval, and over-responsibility. Those got you here; they can’t take you where you’re going. What sustains us as we age isn't more of the same—more goals, more noise, more striving—but a different focus on meaning. Meaning stops being just a reward and instead becomes a way to navigate each day: a deeper commitment to what matters, a deeper connection with mystery, a gentler friendship with our own limits. The question shifts from “What should I be when I grow up?” to “What wants to grow through me now?” This is where the “generational voices” become loud. Many of us grew up surrounded by a transactional mindset: worth equals usefulness; love is earned; rest is suspect; being needed is the same as being alive. That belief creates hardworking people who eventually feel empty. The spiritual challenge of this moment is to acknowledge those voices for how they tried to keep you safe—and then release them. You can honor your ancestors without reliving their anxieties. You can love your teachers and still move beyond their lessons. You can thank your past for its scaffolding and then step into a house with bigger windows. If the body is softer now, let it be a teacher instead of a problem. Slower energy is not an accusation; it’s a guidance system. It asks us to trade magnitude for presence, multitasking for attention, and performance for connection. When we stop fighting our pace, a new kind of calling appears: to be a blessing right where we are. The work is less about reinvention and more about revelation—uncovering the wisdom your years have cultivated and sharing it in ways that match your current strength. I often reflect on what I’ve seen at the end of life. When everything unnecessary falls away, the pillars that remain are always the same: love, forgiveness, meaning, and presence. No one requests more tasks. People want to speak the truth, fix what can be fixed, cherish what is still beautiful, and know they are not alone. If these are the true measures of a person, then we don’t have to wait until the end to live by them. We can start now. So, what does this look like in practice—when motivation is thin, and the future feels blurry? Begin small and meaningful. Show your nervous system a kinder reality. The body learns through experience. Experience one minute in sunlight before your phone reminds you that life is more than crises. Have one genuine conversation without multitasking to remind your heart, “Connection is still here.” Lighting a candle at day’s end tells your spirit, “This day was held; I am, too.” These are not acts of self-indulgence. They are acts of repair. And repaired people can hear purpose. Next, let purpose shrink until it fits this day. We often see purpose as a brand or a five-year plan. In the second half, purpose usually appears as a person right in front of you, a task that needs your tenderness, a truth that needs to be spoken, and a skill you can share. Your offering might be a listening practice, a grief circle, a porch where neighbors feel safe, or a book given to someone at just the right moment. Call this “micro-purpose.” When done with devotion, micro-purpose becomes a way of life. Then, tell the truth gently. The sentence “I can’t do what I used to” can be either a prison or a prayer. As a prison, it keeps you comparing yourself to yesterday. As a prayer, it allows you to ask, “What can I do right now?” That’s the question that would be most productive. It leads to work that matches your energy, friendships that don’t require pretense, and a spirituality that feels like home. Finally, invite the holy back into daily life. The soul doesn’t need perfect rules; it needs regular wonder. Wonder is noticing: the pink sky reflected in the pond at dusk, the laugh you thought you’d lost, the compassion of finding just the right words for someone who’s hurting. Wonder doesn’t require that life be easy; it highlights that life is still worth loving. When you practice wonder, direction often returns like a shy animal—slowly, then all at once. If you're looking for some practical starting points, try these for a month and observe what changes. A Rule of Three: Each day, pick one thing to care for in your body (rest, walk, stretch), one person to bless (text, call, note), and one small act of significance (read a page, teach a skill, light a candle and pray). Purpose blooms when these three come together. A Listening Hour (weekly): No screens. Write down three questions: What gave me life this week? What drained me unnecessarily? What is mine to carry next week—and what isn’t? Choose one thing to subtract. Choose one to focus on. Return the Backpack: When a parental or teacher voice encourages you to push past your limits, say aloud, “Thank you for protecting me,” and put that voice aside like a heavy backpack. Then, choose what Love would ask of you instead. Apprentice to Awe: Set aside two ten-minute moments of wonder each week (water, trees, sky, music, a poem). Treat them like medication: a consistent dose with no guilt. Awe boosts motivation better than scolding ever could. Micro-Purpose Map: Make a simple list titled “What wants to grow through me now?” Write down five seeds: a conversation you keep having, a need you see, a tenderness you carry, a skill you could share, and a story only you can tell. Spend fifteen minutes on one seed this week. If you feel like you’re just existing, it might be because your soul has grown beyond the metrics of your culture. That’s not a crisis; it’s a calling. You have so much to offer—just not with the old currency. Let the new economy be presence, blessing, honesty, and small, faithful acts. Let the new goal be to become a person whose very way of being is a shelter. Is this all there is? No. There is also this: the quiet relief of living authentically, the gift of showing up fully with your whole heart, the pleasure of contributing in a way that matches your current season, the peace of belonging to something greater than your plans. There is the joy of realizing that you didn’t lose your purpose—it simply changed shape and started looking like love. May you have the courage to slow down, the wisdom to focus more, and the grace to let what wants to grow through you, grow.   Cathy J. Yuhas – RN, Certified Death Doula, Founder of Dying Matters, LLC With over 36 years of experience as a registered nurse and a certified death doula, Cathy has dedicated her career to changing the way we approach death, dying, and end-of-life care. As the founder of Dying Matters, LLC, she educates, supports, and guides individuals and families through one of life’s most profound transitions. Through her compassionate presence and expertise, Cathy empowers people to make informed, meaningful choices that honor their values and wishes at the end of life. As an educator and advocate, Cathy is now sharing her insights with a broader audience through her new book, Walking Each Other Home: Guiding Caregivers and Community Through the Sacred Passage of Death. Using storytelling, practical wisdom, and heartfelt guidance, she provides a roadmap for navigating end-of-life with dignity, clarity, and peace.